Red light
by vegi burger
Summary: In just a few short days, she was going to be Mrs. Max Medina. The BIG freakout.


She couldn't do it. She wouldn't do it. She just… can't! Fuck the sensible thing!

She was walking around her room in a complete frenzy. In just a few short days, she was going to be Mrs. Max Medina. The English teacher's wife. Goddamn 'Bye-bye, Birdie', musical references were the last thing she needed right now!

What was it she needed right now? Some Valium, maybe. Lots of chocolate, definitely. Coffee. She needed coffee. She needed some coffee really bad, something to clear her mind, to help her think straight.

Realizing she was practically running in circles, she slowed down, shook her head and let out a defeated sigh. Maybe coffee wasn't such a great idea at the moment.

But she still really wanted coffee. Why, why would he do that to her? Why did he have to be so nice, and kind, and wonderful just as somebody else wanted to marry her? And not in the Christopher way of "Hey, let's get married, wouldn't, like, being a family be so, like, freakingly awesome?" No, Max was a good guy. A grownup. Smart, kind of handsome, cooks great Italian, nice, well read… He would be a perfect match… for Rory. Not for her.

He did love her, though. She knew that. She could hear it in his voice when he was talking to her, and she could see it in his face when he was looking at her, this adoration, this admiration, this… frustration. He knew. He must have known. He knew he could never have her, that she wasn't his to take. He was desperate to hang on to her for just a little while longer, but that was all it was. This wasn't forever, and he knew it just as well as she did.

And he could see it. She didn't realize she was being so obvious, but he pointed it out, "picked it up" right away. She begged him to drop it and kick it under the sofa, where she had hidden it for so long, but once he picked it up and shook it in front of her face, it wasn't as easy to ignore. And she really wanted to ignore it. She was planning on ignoring it. She was planning to kick it even deeper under the sofa, or maybe under a heavy rug, or inside a really big, really crowded closet. Dammit.

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

The chupah. Why a chupah? Why now? Why couldn't he just buy her a nice fruit bowl like a normal person would do? Why did it have to be hand-carved? With leaves and birds and goats… why would he do this to her! Why must he keep her hopes up! She's getting married! She was about to get married. She thought she was going to get married, anyway… She couldn't do it. She won't go through with it.

Her mother's voice was screeching in her head, _"Why must everything be so complicated with you, Lorelai?"_

Her father's voice came soon after, _"Oh, leave her, Emily. You know how she is. She wouldn't do the right, sensible, responsible thing to save her life. You should know that by now."_

And she did. She did know. She knew she was about to be a great disappointment once again. She knew she was about to break the heart of yet another person who had trusted her, who had counted on her, who had made plans for the future concerning her, just so she could… live. They never really got that. They always thought she was just going against them, just to spite, just to prove a point, but it was nothing like that. She was just different, that's all. She needed different things. She needed a different atmosphere. She needed different air. She needed… to tell Max. Damn.

But how would she do it? Could she pull a "Dear John" on him? "Dear Max, I'm sorry to have to do this to you, but I'm calling off the wedding. See, I don't love you. Truth be told- I never really did. You are a great guy and I wish you best of luck, Lorelai"? It doesn't sound right. How about "You and me were just not meant to be"? Or maybe "Potato/ Potahto, Tomato/Tomahto, let's call the whole thing off"? Oy with the musical references, already!

She was never really good at these kinds of situations. Her expertise was to run away, confrontation was still something she was learning. She should let Rory do it. She was good with this stuff. They were teaching her that in Chilton. Why else was she paying so much for this stupid, stuck-up, snotty, soul-stifling, some other s-word school! She should just let Rory handle it. She's the nice one. Pah. That couldn't be right, could it?

But she needed to do something. She couldn't just walk around her room in circles forever. Her legs were already starting to hurt, and she was getting dizzy. So, no, walking around in circles—definitely not a life plan. Good that's settled. Now what?

She fell on her bed, exhausted. Her head was spinning and her eyes were hurting and her mind was racing, but not in a helpful way. It was more of a 'Goddamit! Fucking shit! Holy crap! Freakin'… poo!' train of thought. Kind of a mantra, only it did nothing to relax her.

Her dress was hanging from her dresser, untouched, mocking. It was a shame. It really was a beautiful dress. But it wasn't her dress, she knew that now. Slick, straight lines, strikingly white and shiny fabric, simple, modest, and as 'not-her' as a dress could possibly get. It was what everyone wanted her to be, it was what she herself thought she should be, but it wasn't her. And now it was staring at her, telling her lies, speaking of a life she will never have, a dress that she'll never wear, a man whose hopes she was about to dash and heart she was about to break.

She couldn't look at that dress anymore. She couldn't stay here, in this room, with that dress. The walls were closing in on her. The house was closing in on her. Stars Hollow was closing in on her. It was all just too much. She needed to get away. She couldn't think like that. She just needed to get away. She needed to pack.

As the decision was formed, a feeling of sheer elation was spreading across her body, soothing her pained head, regulating her heartbeat, and turning that persistent frown upside down. Fuck them all! She knew what she was doing. This was the right thing, she could feel it. For the first time in months, she felt free. She didn't even realize it at the time, but she hadn't really been breathing properly since she accepted the proposal. And now… she could breathe. That invisible yet incredibly heavy… whatever it was, was off her chest. The ring was off her finger. She could sing. And she would sing. This was a new beginning, the start of a new phase, a reason to celebrate! But before she could do that… she needed to tell Rory.

"Pack!"

>>>

It was 3 AM, only 2 hours before she needed to wake up and she and Rory would embark on their road-trip adventure, yet she was still wide awake, unable to fall asleep. The happiness she had felt over what was, she had no doubt, the right decision, gave her an adrenaline surge that would not let her keep her eyes closed. That, and the nagging feeling of an uncompleted project. She needed to do it before they leave. She had to suck it up.

She took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

Tomorrow morning, Mr. Max Medina, the English teacher, would wake up to this message:

"Hi, Max, it's… uh… Lorelai.

I'm just calling to tell you that we're going out of town for a while, me and Rory. The weather is good and we're just… I'm… I'm not going to marry you, Max. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told I would. I, I thought this was what I wanted… but it's not. It's… I'm sorry, I'm not sure what to say. You really are a great guy, Max, a great guy… and I'm sure that someday, you'll find an equally great woman who'd be able to appreciate that, and you'll marry her, and you'll have lots of smart, Marcel Proust reading, non-lawn mowing, wonderful kids, and you'll be very happy. I hope you'll be happy. I really am sorry to do this to you, Max, but… better now than at the altar, right?

So, take care, Max. I mean it. I'm sorry. B…bye."


End file.
